Прощай моя любовь

chapter 8

Dread and guilt blinded his mind. As he sat in the uncomfortable hospital seat, Russia sank dangerously deeper in the sea of his own thoughts, unknown to the myriad amount of people shuffling around the wide hospital corridor. Behind the snow-white coloured door beside him was a sight he simply couldn't bear to see again- and yet a sight he was responsible for.

Currently, grotesque wounds where being washed and stitched with consummate difficulty. Russia could faintly hear the marred Canadian' s desperate screams of agony from the opposite side of the wall; though he did not express it, they hurt Russia as much as they hurt Canada himself.

As soon as Russia had snapped out of his petrified trance when he saw Canada's torn, blood-bleached body in the clearing, he hands immediately scratched around for his mobile phone. Once he had hurriedly explained his situation to the hospital, he darted over to Canada's side.

"Ca-Canada? Cana... oh, it's no use." Russia sighed, successfully finding a pulse in Canada's wrist.
Belarus will pay for this later...Russia thought to himself.

Noticing his beloved scarf draped around Canada's scarlet neck, he smiled, despite the fact that both Canada and his scarf where thoroughly stained in blood. He had felt distressingly bleak without the two of them, and any reunion with them would be a joyous occasion, according to Russia.

After Russia was ready to believe it was too late for help to arrive, a vociferous machine bust out of the horizon line and swam though the vast sea of sunflowers. The dead trail of flattened plants that it left in its wake weren't Russia's concern at that moment.

Soon enough, the ambulance had swept up the two countries and, before long, had transported them both to the hospital.

Fidgeting in his navy blue seat, Russia pondered: if I hadn't disturbed Canada in the snowstorm all those days ago, he wouldn't be no. 1 on 'Belarus' s must-kill list'! I wouldn't have caused him to be in this life threatening situation, not to mention the last one, too! Russia squeezed his eyes closed, cosioning his face in his hands in attempt to suppress emotional displays.
Why do I hurt everything that I love?

Russia, despite spending multiple sleepless nights trying to order and understand his emotions, was still in a constant state of uncertainty.

Throughout his bitter timeline, he had spent more time than anybody else in sour solitude. But maybe it was solitude that brought Russia and Canada together?

For once, Canada had found someone who acknowledged his existence, who he could relate to, and someone who could shatter the deafening silence that surrounded and consumed him. But it cost him. And Russia couldn't find anybody else to blame other than himself. He wanted nothing more that to show how undeniably grateful he was to Canada, and God knows he tried, but the only result so far was bloodshed.

Shattering the scene' s monotony, the plain white door beside Russia swung open, and he automatically stood up to see if it was Canada. Turning around, he caught sight of Canada's notably red-tinted eyes, trembling limbs and faint, sadistic grin. Without a second thought, the two men embraced each other, in sync, like they where toddlers being reunited with their long- lost teddy bears; the sight caused a nearby passer-by to let out a quiet "chigi!" After several drawn-out moments of cherishing each other's warm embrace, they both mumbled the same compact, yet adept statement,

"I'm so sorry."

Russia offered a faint smile as he tenderly petted Canada's lustrous, golden hair, his chin resting atop of his head, murmuring, "it's not your fault at all! You where just trying to be a good friend, and I thank you for that."
Friend?
"I'll do my very best to get my sister out of our hair, I promise. Then I won't have to see you go through all of this again, Canada."

"Mathew."

"Huh?"

The slightly shorter man lifted his head from the altitueious Russian' s chest aria and locked his sodden blue eyes the other's gorgeous purple hues.

"Just call me Mathew."

Both of them smiled broadly and embraced each other again. "Likewise, you can call me Ivan."

Finally realising that they had been standing in the centre of the hallway for several minutes, the Russian gently tugged the the Canadian by the hand down the thick stream of people, chanting, "come on, let's get you signed out as soon as possible!"

Canada smiled, allowing himself to be pulled through the stream of bodies with an uncharacteristically stubborn thought repeatedly chanting in his head: do your worst, America and Belarus!